


All that matters to me

by PenguinofProse



Series: Season 7 speculation [9]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode speculation: Etherea, F/M, S7 speculation, Thirsting Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Clarke considers and compares Bellamy's looks from S1-7, including that "caveman" Bellamy we saw in the promo for this week's episode.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Season 7 speculation [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783594
Comments: 20
Kudos: 161





	All that matters to me

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some thoughts from Clarke on Bellamy's looks from S1-7. Huge thanks to Pris for letting me write her wonderful idea, and to her and Zou for all their helpful input, and to Stomrkpr for betaing. Happy reading!

Clarke's first thought when she sees the young man in an ill-fitting guard's uniform, standing next to the dropship door, is that his hair looks stupid.

Her second thought is that he's annoyingly hot.

No. That's not what matters, here. It's barely seconds since they landed and already he's trying to order everyone else around, and she thinks that does not bode well. He's trouble, she resolves, and she's not going to get on with him at all well. She's read _Pride and Prejudice_ , so she's familiar with the concept of infuriating hot guys.

In short, she is determined to hate him.

But then he shares a heartfelt hug with a slight, dark-haired girl who claims him as her brother, and Clarke's third thought is that it might turn out to be difficult to hate anyone who loves their sister that much.

…...

The uniform doesn't fit because he stole it. In fact, it's worse than that – he stole it, shot the Chancellor, and then stowed away on the dropship. Clarke learns this and many other things about the annoyingly hot man in the weeks that follow. She learns that his name is Bellamy, and that his hair looks much better without the gel. In fact, it falls in soft curls over his forehead that she could definitely see herself combing her fingers through, if ever the opportunity were to present itself.

No, that's frivolous. She learns other things about him, too – important things. That his mother raised him to be good, that he cares about his sister more than anyone. That he means well, for the most part, but doesn't always think things through. That he wears his mistakes heavily, like a shroud, and falls back on sex and violence when he's angry with himself.

Most important of all, she learns that he cares too damn much.

Today, for example, she wants to find him to ask him to give Sterling time off from the patrol schedule. The younger boy has hurt his ankle, and it's not serious, but he should get some rest. As Bellamy sorts out the patrols, Clarke therefore needs to ask him about it.

But Bellamy is nowhere to be seen.

She searches high and low for him – the dropship, his tent, the tents of the girls he likes to screw the most often. With a rising sense of panic, she branches out into looking further afield, scouring the land just outside the camp walls.

When she does find him, the best part of an hour later, he is stumbling back into camp laden down with a frankly insane number of waterskins.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asks, because if he manages to strain his back lugging water around she's pretty sure they're all screwed.

"Carrying water." He tells her, as if she might not have noticed that for herself.

"I can see that. Why are you carrying water? And why are you carrying so much of it? Couldn't you -"

"Are you through?" He asks, unimpressed. "It was supposed to be Sterling and Monroe. But Sterling hurt his ankle and Monroe looked exhausted, so I told her to go lie down."

"You're carrying a camp's worth of water because you thought one of the kids needed a lie down." She repeats, every bit as unimpressed herself, now.

"Yeah."

She sighs. She takes a couple of the waterskins from him, and walks back into the camp at his side. Neither of them says anything else, but it's a relaxed kind of silence, she thinks. Now that they've finished letting off steam at each other the atmosphere is rather calmer.

He sets down the water next to the dropship, where they keep it. She does likewise, and turns to speak to him. She's not sure what she's going to say – maybe invite him to pop by her tent to talk about training more gunners, or perhaps ask whether he's had supper.

But he's already gone, striding over to the far side of camp, giving her an infuriatingly good view of his butt in those slightly-too-tight trousers as he goes.

That guard uniform might not fit him very well but somehow, she decides, he makes it work.

That's when she realises it was a mistake to compare her first impression of him to _Pride and Prejudice_ all those months ago. Yeah, sure, the book starts with antagonism and denial of mutual attraction. But they get together in the end, and she finds herself realising with a guilty flush that she thinks she might not mind that idea so much, any more.

…...

Bellamy is in Mount Weather, and Clarke is worried sick. So she does what she always does when she's anxious about something out of her control – she fixates on every tiny detail.

"Have you eaten?" She asks him over the radio, tonight, as if she were his babysitter rather than his partner in leadership.

"I've eaten. Maya takes good care of me." He informs her, audibly exasperated.

"And have you got a disguise? I should have asked you that earlier. They're not going to recognise you?" All at once, she is struck by a horrifying vision of Bellamy in his black Skaikru jacket, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst all that grey concrete and gleaming white.

"I'm fine. I've got one of their guard's uniforms. And I've even got a cap I can use to block my face when I need to."

"That's good." She says, because it is objectively good news.

But all the same, she cannot help but feel that Bellamy Blake has no business wearing a cap. She's irrationally disappointed to hear that his curls are not on show, even though she knows that his hairstyle didn't ought to be her priority right now.

She dwells on it for a moment, and wonders if maybe he could rock a cap after all. It might highlight his jawline, she thinks, to have his hair off his face like that. It's a shame she cannot see him right now to analyse his look for herself.

No. That's not what's important here. As long as he stays safe, that's all that matters to her.

…...

His Mount Weather uniform is no longer gleaming white, as they stand by the gates of Camp Jaha. It's stained grey and green and all sorts of colours, covered in dirt whose origin Clarke cannot even begin to guess at. That's what happens, when you let someone you love go into danger without you – they come back beat up, and you have no way of understanding what they've been through.

She wonders if her soul is stained like his uniform, too. It certainly feels damaged in some way or other.

That's why she has to leave. She has to get out of here, so that she can work through her guilt and grief, so that she does not drag Bellamy down with her.

She just wishes he would wipe that devastated look off his handsome face.

…...

He's wearing a different filthy disguise, the next time she sees him. This time he's dressed as an Azgeda warrior, and while the outfit doesn't particularly do anything for her, she's never been so pleased to see a friendly face in her life.

He looks good, she decides quickly, as he crouches before her. He looks healthy, and happy to see her, and that's all she could ever want for him.

OK, the way he strokes her hair back from her face is a sweet bonus. Maybe she could find herself craving that in the future, too.

She waits a moment too long before noting the danger. She should have warned Bellamy right away – sure, she was bound and gagged, but they've got good at wordless communication by now. She ought to have alerted him to the threat of Roan bearing down on him, but she didn't. And now Bellamy's lying helpless on the floor, his borrowed disguise coated in dust, a panicked frown marring his brow.

"Don't kill him. I'll do anything you ask, just please don't kill him!" She begs, desperate.

She just needs him to live. She needs it, she thinks, more than she has ever needed anything else in her life before.

…...

She recognises Bellamy right away when he bursts into the summit, wielding that rifle as if ready to take on the world. How could she not? Those broad shoulders and searching eyes are imprinted on her memory all too clearly.

He seems to have acquired his own guard's uniform now. It fits him too well. That's perhaps a silly thought, but she doesn't entirely see in him the makeshift leader she got to know when they first landed. She wonders what else has changed in the three months they were apart, besides his outfit. It's silly, because she's pretty sure he looked more himself when he was wandering into that cellar disguised as the enemy to rescue her last week than he does right now.

At least his hair is right, those tousled curls tumbling over her forehead and reminding her of more innocent days when she thought her guilty desire to comb her fingers through them was the biggest of her problems.

…...

He's wearing the same uniform when she goes to beg for his help after the grounder massacre, but he's wearing a very different face. His eyes are angry, even when they fill with tears, and she realises that something really did change in him, those three months she was gone.

"I'm sorry." She offers, helpless, as she sits heavily. "I'm sorry for leaving. I knew I could because they had you."

For a moment, she thinks she has got through to him. He kneels before her, takes her hand, and she dares to think that the Bellamy she would recognise is still hidden away in there, somewhere, beneath the skin of this stranger who wears his hair.

"I know we can fix this." She offers, hopeful, desperate.

That's when she realises her mistake. That's when she looks into his eyes, really looks, and sees that his eyes are not quite right. There's more anger there than gentleness, and it doesn't suit him at all.

"I'm sorry, too." He says, as he locks the handcuffs about her wrists.

She hates this. She hates that it is her fault, that she broke him and made him into this bitter, angry monster. She hates that he could lock her up, when he was her most devoted protector just a few short months ago.

Most of all she hates that he still looks beautiful, even if it's a rather colder beauty than he used to bear. It sucks, she decides, to still be half in love with him in this moment.

…...

They forgive each other. Of course they do – forgiveness is what they do best. And once they have forgiven each other, Clarke allows herself to rely on Bellamy's strength and protection rather more wholeheartedly than she has ever done before.

Right now, for example, she's looking over at him as he drives the rover. They have an urgent mission and are trying to find a way to save the free will of the human race. But all the same, she finds herself taking a moment to admire him in his guard uniform. She rather likes it now – much more than she did at the beginning, she thinks. But interestingly she doesn't much care to admire Monty in uniform – it's definitely Bellamy that matters to her more than the outfit, she realises.

All the same, his uniform suits the mood of the moment. She feels safe with him by her side, and she feels safe knowing that he will have her back when she walks into Polis to try to take down ALIE.

"You're quiet." He offers softly. It does silly things to her insides – he hasn't really been _soft_ with her since she came back, not like this.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"You'll get it done. I know you will." He says, firm.

"You think I can do it?"

"I have faith that you can do anything." He says, with a slight smile, but evidently not entirely joking.

His eyes look right again, she realises in that moment. Their situation is desperate, and she has no idea if her plan will work out. And yet Bellamy has the light back in his eyes that he didn't have that day she broke into Arkadia.

That revelation is enough to make her day, no matter what comes next.

…...

As they wait for the world to end, Clarke learns that she likes best the moments where Bellamy ditches his uniform jacket altogether and it is just the two of them, informal, sitting in her office together.

That's not to say he doesn't rock the jacket. He totally does – those shoulders have her thinking thoughts she probably ought not think about her good friend and colleague.

But yeah, it's best when he's simply wearing T shirt sleeves and an easy smile. They often find themselves sitting next to each other on the couch, and she's a fan of that. She's becoming rather more at home in his personal space than she used to be, getting acquainted with his freckles up close and personal.

Sure, she'd like to be even closer. But she figures she ought to save the world first, and worry about her crush on her best friend later.

No, to call it a crush doesn't do it justice. It's more than that – it's an odd combination of depending utterly on his steady support, smiling at the most unexpected moments because of his silly humour, and desperately wishing she could persuade him into her bed.

It's love, pure and simple. But she's not very good at love, and she has a crisis to deal with, so she never gets round to saying it in so many words.

She says it and shows it in other ways. She puts his name on the list, tells him he's special, takes his hand whenever she has an excuse to do so. He has nice hands, and she'd gladly keep hold of them forever if she thought she could get away with it.

But duty calls, so sooner or later, she knows she will have to let him go.

…...

She draws him a lot when he's gone. Madi is endlessly curious about it all, as children are.

"Is that Bellamy?" She asks, pointing to a drawing of him in that Azgeda disguise.

"Yeah."

"Why is he dressed as Azgeda? You said he's a Skaikru guard?"

"He is. But sometimes he dresses as other guards. As a disguise. That's one of his special skills, he goes disguised as other soldiers to come through from the inside." It's hard to explain to a young child. She's never met anyone quite like Bellamy, when it comes to changing his appearance and acting a part yet remaining utterly himself.

"Like how heroes have special powers?" Madi asks, intrigued.

"Yeah." She supposes that explanation is as good as any.

She has a whole collection of Bellamy drawings, now. The Mount Weather disguise, the slicked-back hair and the ill-fitting Ark guard uniform. Most often of all she comes back to the night they wrote the list, Bellamy asleep on her couch with his face relaxed and utterly captivating.

The one thing she never gets right is his eyes.

…...

It's not her Bellamy that comes home from the sky. The clothes are different – sure, a Henley is a perfectly valid garment, but it doesn't get her cheeks flushing quite like that guard uniform always did. His face is different, too, with the beard and the longer hair.

Even the eyes are different, more critical somehow, more closed off. It's like he's hiding something, thinking too hard, shutting her out.

She realises too late that it's the same looks she used to have in her eyes, after Mount Weather.

…...

It's not until they stand side-by-side at the window and look down on their new home that Clarke realises Bellamy is still Bellamy. Sure, he might be very different on the outside, but his heart is still the same, and that's what counts.

She has to admit that the change of outfit helps. He's not dressed in the clothes he came back from space and betrayed her in. He's wearing Eligius clothes, black from head to toe, and that's an improvement. Partly because it suits him, highlights those familiar shoulders – now even broader after his time away. But largely because the one plain colour makes her think of blank slates and new beginnings.

As he curls an arm around her shoulders, she knows they are going to be OK.

…...

She feels the first twinge of desire in over a century when they stand together in the schoolroom and discuss the radio calls. She hates herself for that, because he just called her pathetic, but it is what it is. She's long since learnt that there's no use in her trying to repress her attraction for this man.

She blames him for her renewed surge of attraction to him. He had to go and smile at her, and it turns out that she finds the bearded look rather hot when he's smiling with it. She never thought she liked bearded guys until now – she's always gone for women or clean-shaven men, and she supposes she kind of thought that was a pattern.

Well, apparently that pattern has now been broken.

He doesn't look the same as he did when he was younger, of course, but she's decided that's fine. It's _more_ than fine – he looks more mature, these days. More like the kind of guy who could show her he knows what he's doing in the bedroom, but be a great father to a brood of children to boot.

No. She really shouldn't be thinking like that.

The beard is a source of endless curiosity to her. She wonders when he grew it, and why. Was it because he couldn't look himself in the eyes in the mirror when he left her in Praimfaya? Was it because he wanted to wear a new face and be a new man, to start again after he lost her?

She has no business thinking such things. He is with Echo and that's that.

All the same, she cannot help but ask herself what his beard would feel like against her skin. Of course, she knows what it feels like against her neck when they hug. But she wonders what it would feel like against her lips, or against her -

"Clarke?" Bellamy's voice interrupts her thoughts, and she jumps in shock.

"Yeah. Sorry?"

"Everything OK? You were looking at me funny."

Right. Yes. They're supposed to be studying this map the residents of Sanctum have helpfully loaned them. She is not supposed to be staring at her old friend's face.

She finds a solution to her obsession with Bellamy's beard, in the end. She sleeps with Cillian. That makes sense. Obviously it does – she's just feeling really curious about facial hair in general, right now.

…...

The first thing she notices, when she wakes up after recovering from her encounter with Josephine, is that Bellamy is wearing a cardigan.

There are other things she ought to be more interested in right now, she's pretty sure. The political situation in Sanctum, or Gabriel's state of mind. Heavens, even fixating on the fact that Bellamy literally brought her back to life with his lips and hands would make more sense. She's wanted his lips on hers for quite literally decades, so why the hell is she currently being sidetracked by knitwear?

"You feeling OK?" He asks her, offering a glass of water.

"You're wearing a cardigan." She blurts, because apparently her brain has not entirely recovered yet.

He looks down at his chest, as if surprised by her observation. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

She nods uselessly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She ought to get her mind back on something more relevant, but she really likes that damn cardigan. It makes her think of cuddles and domesticity, of living a peaceful family life with this man – and then perhaps dragging it from his broad shoulders, stripping him naked and begging him to have his way with her.

Yeah, that got out of hand.

"You should wear more cardigans." She offers. Clearly she has not learnt from her mistake.

"I only have this one. And it's not really mine – I borrowed it." If he thinks it's ridiculous that they're having this conversation, he doesn't let on.

"You should get more."

She could make him more, she decides impulsively. She's the former Wanheda and unofficial leader of her people, but as she lies here she is struck by the sudden ridiculous thought that she would gladly learn to knit, if only it would make Bellamy want her.

…...

Bellamy's dead.

Bellamy's dead, and Clarke cannot wrap her head around it.

She can't cry. She can't cry because she has a war to avert and friends to save. She can't cry because she has no _right_ to cry. She is not his girlfriend, however much she might wish she could have been.

It's only been a couple of days since she last saw him, for her, even though it's been months here. She can still remember his face, and that soft cardigan.

She really wishes she'd pressed her nose against his neck a couple of seconds longer while she had the chance.

…...

Clarke does not believe it, at first, when she hears that Bellamy is alive. She doesn't get good news like this, as a rule. It only sinks in when she finds herself heading through the Bridge to find him on Etherea. Miller comes with her, too, and Niylah. They leave the others on Bardo for various reasons – Cadogan wants hostages as much as anything else, Clarke figures, but he also spoke the truth when he pointed out that Echo seems too unstable to go on any missions right this moment.

They split up to look for him, when they arrive, keeping in touch via the radio. Clarke has no clue how to go about finding one man on a vast planet, but she's hoping that she'll just be drawn to him, she supposes. She always has been drawn to him, now she comes to think about it.

Sure enough, within a couple of hours she hears a noise that can only be human – the sound of humming, in fact. She's never known Bellamy to have a taste for music before now, but she knows better than anyone that isolation can change a person.

"Bellamy?" She calls out, edging tentatively forwards.

There's a cave in front of her, so she inches closer to the entrance.

"Bellamy?"

The humming cuts off, abruptly.

"Clarke? Is that – am I hearing things?" He asks, his voice growing closer. "Clarke?" There he is, now, at the entrance to the cave. His hair and beard have grown out, and he's dressed from head to toe in furs, but his eyes are instantly recognisable.

She doesn't hesitate, she dives forwards, throws her arms around his neck. She hugs him tight – they have always been into close hugs, the pair of them, but now she quite simply clings to him, buries her face in his neck, breathes in deeply.

He smells like a dead bear carcass.

She tries not to let that get to her, as she takes shallow breaths and tries not to get another whiff of the smell. But as she's struggling with that, she allows herself fully to analyse his appearance, too. In the excitement of seeing him again she didn't at first allow herself to dwell on his new hairstyle – or lack thereof. She loves him, and what she cares about the most is having him alive and in her arms. But now she comes to think about it, he must have been here for months – or perhaps even years. His hair has grown out past his shoulders, and his beard is long and unkempt. He looks older, too, and although his eyes are as warm as ever they are surrounded by deep creases of stress and exhaustion.

She pulls away from the hug and tries for a neutral expression.

"Are you OK? What happened?"

"I've been here a while." He says, as if it's no big deal. "I'm fine, really. But I think you coped with a deserted planet better."

Typical Bellamy, trying to brush the real issue aside with a poor quality joke. She smiles a little, because she knows she's supposed to, and wonders what to say next.

As it happens, he has something else to add.

"You certainly looked better afterwards." He offers quietly.

"You look great." She rushes to assure him, then realises that probably sounded rather strange, given the circumstances. "I mean – you could use a change of clothes I guess. But you're alive, and that's all that matters to me."

She doesn't know what response she's expecting to her foolish babbling. A nervous laugh, perhaps, or at the best perhaps another long hug.

He skips that step and gets straight on with kissing her.

Clarke isn't sure what to make of that. It's great, of course it's great, because this is _Bellamy_ and she's wanted to kiss him for as long as she's known him. Sure, they're not the circumstances she would have picked, between the freezing temperatures and the fact that he needs a shower and looks a little like an eccentric wizard from the films they made on Earth before the bombs. But his lips are warm and soft, and his kiss is firm, and his hands are holding her close, and in that sense this is everything she has ever wanted.

Then she remembers Echo.

For a moment, she considers pulling away from the kiss. But for once in her life she wants to do what makes her happy, not what is best for everyone else. She thinks she deserves a second or two of selfishness, after decades of putting her life on the line for the good of others.

Apart from anything else, this takes them full circle, she figures. She met Bellamy amid that stupid situation with her and Finn and Raven. Perhaps, she wonders, it was always going to end up here.

Screw it. She wants to keep kissing him.

…...

They don't talk about it much. There's no need to – after all these years, they are good at reading each other's thoughts. On the way back to the stone and then Bardo, Bellamy simply takes Clarke's hand, and informs her that he plans to speak to Echo, and that is that.

They are briefly separated on their return to Bardo. Bellamy needs to get changed and have that conversation, and Clarke needs to go negotiate with Cadogan.

It doesn't take her long. A couple of hours later, she is sitting on the bed in her temporary room when there is a robust knock at the door.

"Hello?"

"It's me." That's Bellamy voice, and she almost rolls her eyes. After that kiss they shared on Etherea, why is he so shy about walking into her bedroom?

"Come on in."

He does so, opening the door, even whilst balancing a box of some sort in his arms. He's cleaned up and changed, Clarke notes. He's wearing a pair of unobjectionable black trousers that look kind of like the sort of thing he used to wear on the guard. She's more excited by his sweater, which looks soft and warm and makes her think of that conversation about cardigans.

She really does need to learn how to knit.

His hair and beard are still long. She maintains that it's not necessarily a look she would choose for him, but she has to admit that he looks pretty damn good now he's clean and relaxed and smiling at her. In fact, she decides in this moment that she'll always find him beautiful as long as he's looking at her like that, eyes full of warmth.

"What's in the box?" She asks, intrigued.

"Scissors, clippers, combs. I asked for barber's supplies and this is what they gave me." He says, somewhere between sheepish and trying not to laugh.

"And why are you in my room with a box full of barber's supplies?"

"I wondered if you might help me out. I figure I need a haircut and a beard trim. I thought – I don't know – would you do it?" He sounds almost nervous at the idea, she thinks.

"I have no idea how to." She says, because that seems like a more sensible answer than throwing herself into his arms and saying she'd love nothing more than to play hairdresser for him.

"You'll work it out. You're a doctor, right? You can be trusted with scissors. And you can't expect me to believe you love to draw but you can't make a haircut look decent."

"You really want me to do it?"

"Yeah. I trust you." He swallows loudly. "And – I don't know – maybe it's silly. But I thought maybe it could be the start of _us_. You can help me say goodbye to Etherea and start on a future with you."

"I'd like that." She agrees easily, getting to her feet and closing the distance between them at last.

He kisses her in greeting, soft and too brief for her liking.

"I take it you spoke to Echo?" She checks.

"Yeah. All good."

She greets that news with another kiss. Then she gestures him towards a chair and watches as he takes a seat. There's a towel in the box and she arranges it tenderly around his shoulders – she doesn't want him getting hair all over that lovely sweater.

"How do you want it?" She asks, realising she should probably have found that out sooner.

"I don't mind. How do you like me best?" He wears a teasing smile.

She thinks about that for a while. She's not sure about the answer to that – probably either the young soldier who stood by her side as they waited for the world to burn, or the kind man with the beard and cardigan who brought her back to life.

In the end she decides that he asked the wrong question. This isn't about her choosing some style for him, as if the love of her life was her doll to dress as she wishes. This is about both of them starting a new life together, and about the utter truth that as long as he's _Bellamy_ , nothing else matters.

"Do you want to try something new?" She suggests.

"What are you thinking?"

"Shorter hair? And either no beard or a little stubble?" She still has that fascination, after all, with what his chin might feel like scratching gently against her skin. She never really did get satisfactory answers to that from her night with Cillian.

"That sounds great. I had my hair shorter before I knew you, actually. Only let it grow out when they found O."

She never knew that. She wonders what else she might learn about this complicated man, in the years ahead.

She sets to work. She knows nothing at all about how to do this – she cut her own and Madi's hair during Praimfaya, but that's the extent of her experience. All the same, she works it out. It's hardly the most difficult thing she has ever done. Operating hair clippers is easier than leading the human race, it turns out.

She's nearly finished when Bellamy begins to get bored – or perhaps impatient. It starts small, his eyes flickering and following her as she moves. Then his hands start to wander, palm resting at her waist while she works.

She turns aside, wondering where she set down the comb, and as she turns back he leans up out of his chair to kiss her.

She kisses him back, of course, because she's no fool. She kisses him hard, in fact, pushing him back into his chair and gripping firmly at his shoulders to keep him there.

Then she stands up to her full height and looks down at him, unimpressed.

"Let me finish this first. You don't want uneven sides."

He snorts. "Pretty sure I don't care much as long as I get you."

That has her flushing, hot and red. She's found this man attractive as long as she's known him, and the knowledge that he has the hots for her too is shooting straight to her crotch. Sure, she realised there was something like this going on what with all the kissing they've been doing since they reunited. But this is a whole new level of excitement, between his possessive comment and his clear implication that he has something else planned for them, once she's finished restyling his hair.

She forces herself to keep concentrating until her task is done. His hair is short, but not too short, just beginning to show curls. He doesn't have a beard, as such, but she's clipped the stubble on his chin to just the perfect length to scratch at her fingertips as she strokes along the length of his jaw.

She stands back and takes in her handiwork.

"You look good." She tells him, unabashed.

"So do you."

She nods. He grins. She wonders which of them will break first.

"Shall we -?"

"Do you -?"

They both ask at once, eyes darting towards the bed. That breaks the tension, has both of them laughing as they step towards each other. And then they're kissing, and nothing else matters any more.

Clarke ought to have planned this more carefully, she's pretty sure. She ought to have started work on a strategy the moment Bellamy kissed her earlier today. She has acquired a long list of things she finds attractive about this man, over the years, and she should have mapped out a logical way of enjoying all of them in one sexual encounter. Right now, for example, she cannot decide whether to cup his butt with her hands and squeeze the firm muscles there, or whether to stroke the soft skin of his neck, or whether to grip at those strong shoulders. She finds herself tense with indecision, wondering what he would like the most.

"You OK?" He whispers, pulling away from her lips for a moment. "Nervous?"

She starts to shake her head, then tries to turn it into a nod, and ends up just sort of jerking her head stupidly sideways.

"Relax and enjoy it." He recommends easily. "We've got the rest of our lives to get this right, OK? Just – keep breathing and remember that – that I love you." He gets the words out, eyes fixed determinedly on hers.

"I love you too." She assures him, surprised at how easily the words roll off her tongue. It's like she's been rehearsing for this moment for decades. Probably that's because she has.

"That's all that matters to me." He tells her, grinning. "I'm sure this will be great, but if not we can try again later."

She nods. "It's just a little overwhelming."

"Yeah." He agrees. "But in a good way."

Actually, she decides, he might be right there. Certainly there are worse problems to have than to be spoilt for choice when it comes to deciding what to explore with Bellamy first. That resolved, she focuses on his advice – breathing, and remembering that he loves her.

Yeah, that certainly helps.

Their kisses soon become more heated, their hands more bold. Clarke finds that she enjoys running her hands over as much of Bellamy as she can reach at once, and resolves that she can always check out the rest of him later. It occurs to her that she's never paid much attention to his legs, for example, but that it would be unfair to neglect them. She's pretty sure she could even get excited about feet, as long as the feet are Bellamy's.

She stops thinking about that, then, to concentrate on undressing him instead. It's a cute sweater and all, but she wants it gone, now. He gets the message, helping her to shed her clothes in turn, and then she passes a lovely few moments in pressing kisses along the length of his collarbone.

She goes willingly when he urges her back onto the bed, holding onto his shoulders and trying to tug him down with her. But he doesn't seem to want to join her, as he edges back down to the foot of the bed.

"What are you doing?" She asks, although she has a feeling she knows the answer.

"Can I use my mouth on you?" He asks, but way of response.

This is a tough question. She loves his mouth, and she's been imagining the feel of his rough chin against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs for a while now. But actually, that's not what she wants right now. It's not what she wants _first_.

"Another time?" She suggests, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Today I really want to be able to hold you. And I want you inside me."

He grins at that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Come up here." She invites him, confident.

It's even better, now she's said what she wants. It's not just because she's feeling more confident – he seems more relaxed and secure, too, kissing her freely and sinking into her arms. It's like he's stopped trying to impress her, she decides, and actually she really likes that. It's perhaps a strange thing, but she likes the idea that he's feeling so at home, here in bed with her, that he can just chill out and be himself.

"You ready?" He checks gently with his fingers before he tries to get in there with his cock.

"Yeah. More than ready."

He kisses her even as he pushes inside of her, and he's still exploring her body with his hands. It's like he can't get enough of her, she thinks, and that's a good thought. She wonders for a fleeting moment whether he's wanted her for anything like as long as she's wanted him.

She stops wondering that as he builds up a rhythm, as his kisses grow looser and more urgent until he's basically just panting into her mouth. His arousal is really getting to her, sending her closer to the edge in turn. She feels sexy, when he loses control like this because of her. There's simply no other way of putting it.

She's got the shakes badly, now, still just about clinging to control. She can even feel her eyelids trembling as Bellamy buries his face in the crook of her neck, gasping a seemingly random string of compliments against her skin.

"I'm close." He informs her, two whole words she manages to decipher from his urgent babble.

At his words, she finds that she is, too. Something about hearing him say it out loud has her realising that she's ready to fall apart for him in turn.

"Me too." She gasps, pressing a kiss to his recently-cut hair. "Feels so good. Love you."

He groans hard, moves ever faster. And all at once she's there, clenching around him, as he sighs loud and long with his face buried in her neck.

There's a second of perfect silence, marred only by the sound of their own loud breathing. And then he's propping himself up on his arms again, smirking down at her with the kind of expression she remembers from the early days back at the dropship.

"Not bad, huh?" He asks brightly.

"I've had worse. Might have to try it again to check." She grins up at him.

He laughs at that, a warm carefree sound. His eyes are practically _glowing_ , she thinks, and there's a generous sheen of sweat on his brow but somehow it's not unpleasant.

It hits her all at once in a rush. This is it – this is her favourite look for Bellamy. It's not the haircut or the lack of clothes or the well-defined muscles in his shoulders.

It's the fact that he looks utterly and absolutely happy, and that's all that could ever matter to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
